


The Invisible Hand

by flipflop_diva



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demon Sex, Demons, F/F, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 16:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva
Summary: Her mother had told her the stories, and her grandmother before her. About how the demon always came on the eve of the twenty-third birthday of every female in their blood line. How the demon was never seen but it was always felt. How she too would crave its touch despite her best intentions.





	The Invisible Hand

Her mother had told her the stories, and her grandmother before her. About how the demon always came on the eve of the twenty-third birthday of every female in their blood line. How the demon was never seen but it was always felt. In the dark of night, in the bright sun of mid-afternoon. It stayed out of the way, always there, always watching. Until the young woman was ready. 

She had shaken her head at these stories, rolled her eyes even. There was no such thing as demons. There was no such thing as this kind of demon. And even if there was, she would never want a demon, would never _desire_ a demon.

But she would, her mother insisted, as her grandmother had insisted to her mother before her. It would happen because it always did. It was inevitable really. 

It would start out as curiosity, her mother told her. Wandering what the demon looked like, what she felt like. Wanting to touch her to see if there was any recognizable shape. And then the curiosity would grow stronger and stronger, like a current dragging her under, until the day she did touch her, and that touch was all it would take. It would be like a drug. She would want more, and more, and more, until all she could think about what the demon touching her.

And not just touching her arm or her hand or her leg. But touching her where it mattered most, where she wanted it most, and finally she would beg the demon to please, please, please just touch her. But the demon wouldn’t — not at night when she lie sweating and pleading in her bed. Not in the shower when her own fingers failed to do the trick. Not anywhere in her apartment or the privacy of her life.

But one day when she was out in public, it would happen. And it would be the best and worst day of her life, her mother told her, and she shook her head in dismay, because her mother had always told fantastical stories but this was too much and there were no such things as demons and even if there were she would not be letting one touch her in public.

“You will believe me some day, girl,” her mother told her, and she nodded and said okay and slipped away to another room where she could shake her head at her mother’s imagination and could only thank the gods above that she so far had not inherited the crazy that claimed her mother and her grandmother before her.

•••

She turned twenty-three on a Saturday in late June. On the Friday night before, as she slipped into her evening dress in front of her floor-length mirror, she felt for the first time a sort of cool breeze against the back of her legs. For a moment, her mind went to her mother and the story she had told, but then she reminded herself the window was open, and although the night seemed hot and still, it was not impossible that a slight breeze had come through.

“More impossible than a demon now watching me,” she said, and she finished getting ready, and later, as the sensation of being watched grew stronger and stronger through the night, she reminded herself that it was her own paranoia that was the culprit and not a story that could not possibly be true.

Because how could it be true? Demons were not real, and just because her mother, and her grandmother before her, said they were did not make them so. And just because her skin prickled throughout the next few days and the feeling of eyes following her every move became more intense with each passing hour also did not make it so, and she was going to prove herself crazy before she proved there was a demon.

Until finally she knew she needed to reach out, to touch the space around her, to prove once and for all that there was nothing there, nothing following her, nothing beside her. Just a fable that was taking over her life and nothing more.

So she got up from her bed in the middle of the night and she stretched out her hands and she called to the demon to let her touch her, if she was indeed real, and her fingers slid through air as she whirled around in circles and nothing was in her way and nothing was there and then …

Oh. Her fingers landed on something she had never felt before. Cool and silky, like gold pouring through her hands, and she tried to curl her fingers around the sensation but it was gone and she was left with just air and she gasped as she realized what her mother, and her grandmother before her, told her may have been true after all.

But it couldn’t be true, her brain tried to rationalize, but the feeling she had felt wouldn’t leave her alone. She could sense it was near, that perfect touch, but she couldn’t find. She tried everywhere, searched so many hours, but she could not touch it again.

But she knew it was there and she needed it, needed to feel it, if just to prove once again that she had felt it, and she wanted it, wanted it deep down in her soul and more than she had ever wanted anything. She craved it, desired it and even though she wondered if she was falling into the crazy that consumed her mother, another part of her found that she couldn’t care. She just needed that touch, needed to be touched, and if her mother was to be believed — and maybe she was — there was only one way to get it.

She put on her smallest skirt and her flowiest shirt and headed out to the farmers market on a Sunday in July, and she smiled when she saw the size of the crowd and she raised her head high and walked right into the middle of it, and there she waited, waited for what she knew was coming, her breath stuck in her throat and her arousal already high, and yes, yes, this is what she was waiting for and it was finally time. Finally, finally time.

But it wasn’t coming. She stood there, in the middle of the crowd, and she waited, but there was no touch. She stretched out her fingers to try and feel it herself, but there was nothing but there.

She closed her eyes and breathed. Her mother had said you could always feel the demon, and she could, she knew the demon was watching but it wasn’t touching and she felt betrayed, hurt, empty. Was she not worthy as her mother had been and her grandmother before her? Had they something she did not?

She felt tears burn the edges of her eyes. Her vision blurred. All she had wanted was this, but she was being denied …

She found a bench off to the side and slouched down. Beside her a couple fawned over their baby daughter. On the other side of her, two young boys laughed as they ate what seemed like a bag full of bananas.

She closed her eyes and tried not to cry.

And then she felt it.

Her eyes sprang open, a small gasp left her lips. The touch that she had felt for one tiny moment was back and it was on her thigh and it was moving and it wasn’t leaving and it was better than anything she had ever felt in her life. Cool and silky but hot and gentle all at the same time.

Her legs shifted apart, either by conscious or subconscious thought she wasn’t sure and she sure as hell didn’t care. The touch was moving up now, up, up, up her legs, and then …

She let out a soft moan before realizing where she was. The perfect touch was pressing around the edges of her underwear and she could barely breathe.

Her legs shifted apart more, and then … oh, god … she felt a small rush of air as her underwear was pushed to the side and her vagina was exposed, covered only by her tiny little skirt, but then the touch was there … right there … stroking her center, getting deep inside all her folds and she squeezed her eyes together, her head falling back, willing herself to breathe and stay still.

She wanted so desperately to move her hips, to cry out, but if she reacted ... if she made noise … she couldn’t risk the touch moving.

And oh … oh … oh … it was dropping down, down, down and she tried not to cry out as the touch slipped inside her and, oh god, it was so full and so perfect and she had never been as turned on in her life.

She bit down on her lip. Hard, so hard, felt blood start to fill her mouth but she didn’t care because the touch was ebbing and flowing, filling her and subsiding, thrusting in and out of her body, and she spread her legs more and didn’t care what she looked like.

And then her shirt was being lifted, like a gentle breeze, but there was a second touch and it was climbing up her belly and then it was sliding under her bra and it was stroking around her nipples and she felt her body arch and she knew the people around her were staring at her, but she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t, not now, not ever.

So she stayed on her bench, head back, blood dripping from her lip, back arched, legs spread, and she let the demon fuck her like she had never been fucked in her life, and just went the couple looked like they wanted to ask her if she needed help, the touch moved to her clit and her body jerked off the bench and she came, so violently, so hard, so perfect.

She woke up on the ground, faces of strangers around her, assuring her help was on the way and it was just a small seizure, but all she could do was stare at them and let tears fill her eyes, because the touch, the most perfect touch, was gone, and the only thing she wanted was to have it back.

To feel that touch for the rest of her life. To spread herself in public in the quest for the most perfect orgasm.

But it was over and she was on the ground and she just felt empty. She closed her eyes, heard the murmur of the crowd as help arrived, felt herself being placed on to the stretcher. And she wanted to just fade away.

But then, in the midst of all the hands strapping her in and lifting her up, she felt something. Just for a moment. But it was there.

The perfect touch.

And she smiled. Because it was all she had ever wanted and all she could ever want and it was still hers.

It was all still hers.


End file.
